


Tutti

by Dakoyone



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: 4 Hands Duets, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fenris Plays the Piano, Hawke Plays the Piano, Music, Music Nerdery Ahoy, Piano Duets, Piano Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4188444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/pseuds/Dakoyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His music called to her, and she matched him in perfect harmony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bettydice (BettyKnight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/gifts).



> So one day, codenamecynic skypes me and says that bettydice is giving herself feels over piano duet!au.
> 
> Then bettydice gave herself more feels about it on tumblr.
> 
> And this happened. Please enjoy~

She waited until her student left, watching as the light blue minivan drove around the corner to pick the child up at the front of the building. There went her last student on the final day of the semester, her last solid paycheck until she could land a part-time somewhere for the summer. The trouble was that even in a city as large as Kirkwall, there were only two places that would regularly hire the local talent, and that meant gigs only once or twice -- three times, if she was lucky -- a week with an hour set per night. It was an okay job, paying just enough to help her get by for the next two months. The only problem was that both the Hanged Man and the Blooming Rose preferred jazz programs.

Hawke groaned inwardly. She was never terribly fond of the genre. Too much tension and dissonance. It made her ears tingle and not in a good way. Buuuut at least it was just minor ear tingling and not, say, getting high off of health potions after night shifts with Meeran's boys. Those were days gone by and good riddance.

She stepped out of the practice room, the clicking of the door latch and the near silent hiss of the metal door's hydraulics almost too loud in the deserted hallway. The jingly and jangly sounds of her rummaging through her tote for her keys didn't help matters any, and she nearly missed the clear, pure strains of a lone piano coming what sounded like the opposite end of the building where the auditorium was.

 _Was there a recital tonight?_ she wondered. Her brow furrowed as she remembered checking the hallway schedule earlier that afternoon and seeing the word "NONE" scribbled in the auditorium slot for that evening, capitalized, underlined, et al. _Then who...?_

With a casual shrug, she decided to investigate. Not very many people liked to hang around the music building this late in the evening, and Hawke was by nature a very curious person. And also very sneaky, though she really much preferred the term “cautious”. No good could come of disturbing a musician in their element. She would just peek in to see who it was and then leave. Easy, yeah?

Her sneakers squeaked in tempo with the echoes along the empty walls.

The tall double doors leading into the auditorium were slightly ajar, and Hawke silently cheered her good luck. With just a slight push, a small sliver of light from inside scored down her face, casting a faint glow within the pale hue of her wandering eye. The house lights were off, the only thing illuminating the stage a single spotlight hanging from the top corner on stage right. The sleek, black grand piano faced away from her, but the lid was raised to its highest setting, obscuring her view of whomever the mysterious pianist was. Hawke pursed her lips in a displeased frown and risked nudging the door open just a little more.

Compound meter. Bright white locks of hair parted messily down the side. Mezzo piano, soothing if not a bit somber, and such a beautiful tone. A glimpse of dark skin from under a neatly tucked shirt collar and the top of a pressed, grey vest. Touch light but firm, gentle and measured, and Hawke could almost imagine the flawless arc from fingertip to wrist as they lingered, oh so teasingly, on each note. The angle of a sharp chin and the tip of a pointed ear, but a face. If only she could see...

The Star Wars Cantina ringtone.

“ _Shit_!” Hawke leaned too heavily on the door and she fumbled for the phone in her pocket, the latch releasing with a resounding _clank!_

“Who’s there?” a low growl demanded from within the room.

“Oh, fu--” Flight won over fight, and she bolted out of the doorway and raced down the hallway without looking back. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest at the fear of being caught, and her vision narrowed its focus on the pair of glass doors that led out into the courtyard and, more importantly, to not being caught. It wasn’t until she got home, shouldering the door open with a bang and stumbling into the living room to catch her breath, when she realized she had dropped her phone in the music hallway in her haste to get away.

*

Two weeks later found Hawke in the smoky lounge of the Blooming Rose, playing a popular romance ballad off the lead sheet book on her stand. The Hanged Man had already booked a qunari punk rock group as well as a Kirkwall Guard brass quintet for the evening sets, so she’d never felt more relieved than she did the day she got the call from Madame Lusine. Apparently Lady Elegant, the Hightown diva, quit the club scene with short notice and was now en route to Val Royeaux and Broadway. Madame Lusine was desperate for a replacement, even if a classically trained pianist wasn’t quite what she had in mind. Still, romantic pop tunes were better than jazz.

During her break in between sets, Hawke sat at the bar with her Uncle Gamlen, chatting amiably over her tall glass of water and his scotch. He loved to tell the scandalous tales of young Leandra Amell and her rebellious adolescence, not to mention all of the pranks he played on her in his youth. His eyes crinkled in laughter as he recounted the time he crafted paper spiders and hid them all around her bunk when they were children.

“The way her face burned when she found out it was me was worth all of the lashings I got later that evening. Oh, Maker..."

Hawke smiled fondly. She remembered when Carver would pull similar stunts when they were younger and how angry he would get when she'd play him at his own game. Bethany was easier for him, but she would scream and cry so much that Carver always felt miserable afterward. Once, he switched the heads of Bethany's two favorite dolls, and she was inconsolable for days. Then out of the blue, the doll heads were returned to their original bodies, but it was such a hack job done of the stitching that it _had_ to be Carver's handiwork.

Now they were off being respectable adults and living their own responsible lives on opposite ends of the city, Carver a lieutenant in the City Guard and Bethany a high school science teacher at a private school in desperate need of a name change because "The Gallows: Kirkwall Elite Academy" was just… no.

Hawke glanced at her half-empty glass and decided to chug down the rest of her water like a real adult but sputtered and nearly choked halfway when she caught the faint melody playing over the lounge ambience. She whipped her head around and froze in shock when she saw who had commandeered her piano bench.

Bright white hair against dark skin. The slightest hint of a smirk quirking up the corner of his mouth. Faint lines adorning his skin at his neck and quite possibly lower still. And the most piercing green eyes she had ever seen gazing steadily at her. His long, tapered fingers danced along the upper register of the piano, but Hawke scarcely noticed, her next breath lodged in her throat and her body riveted in place. Beside her, Gamlen turned a curious glance at the stranger who had caught his niece's attention and narrowed his eyes in consideration. Then he simply shrugged and returned to his drink, giving Hawke's shoulder an encouraging pat.

The feeling barely registered in the face of Hawke's tunnel vision. Or perhaps she had simply been holding her breath for so long that she was starting to see spots. Either way, the air left her lungs in a ragged exhale that she barely managed to keep under control. She was panicking, and she knew it. She never did see the face of the pianist that one night in the music building, but she knew without a doubt that this was the same man.

The smirk on the stranger's face turned mischievous as he glanced down briefly at the space beside him then back at her, and Hawke's breath caught in her throat again. Was he really suggesting...? Did she even dare?

Resolution replaced her apprehension, and she upturned the rest of her water as if it was a shot of hard liquor before determinedly slipping off the bar stool and making her way around servers, dancers, and patrons alike. His eyes never left hers even as she climbed the steps to the stage and slid onto the bench next to him, his fingers still dancing that same motif over and over, waiting for her to catch his melody, to match his tempo...

To meet him in harmony, flawlessly grounding him with consonance, his arpeggios a counterpoint to hers, each picking up on the other's touch and body language, articulation and dynamics perfectly in sync as they played their improvised love scene.

Hawke was flying, higher than she'd ever dared to soar, sensing the Blooming Rose and everyone around them fade to black until it was only him and her in this strange and intimate duet, and she wondered for the briefest of moments if this magic was just an illusion or if there was… more. And her heart ached with a yearning she'd never felt in all of her years for a song she had only just begun to understand.


	2. Act 2

Fenris was in the auditorium again. Hawke smiled secretly to herself as she filed the rest of the sheet music in its proper place before gathering her bag and rushing out of the music library. She recognized the tune he plucked. It was the same motif he played that first night two years ago at the Blooming Rose.

_He disappeared shortly after the end of her set, but when she returned to her seat at the bar, her phone - the one she had dropped before - was placed on the countertop. Gamlen merely chuckled at her puzzled stare. "Looked like you were getting along quite well for a while there. Perhaps you could introduce me next time."_

_Hawke smiled shyly then before she turned the device on and blinked at the calendar alert that crossed her screen: "Meeting Fenris today @ Blooming Rose Bar & Lounge"._

_"Fenris," she whispered, tasting the name on her tongue._

He had returned to the Blooming Rose the night after, and Gamlen had shaken his hand and pounded him soundly on the back, both as a sign of acceptance as well as… well, a threat. "Have fun, kids," he said, moving his glass and himself to the other end of the bar.

Fenris had taken that time to explain how he had found her phone and had waited for her to call it so he could return it to her. He had told her that about a week in, he was nearly ready to give up and try guessing her lock screen code instead when Anders called it to ask if she was interested in a jam session. And that was how Fenris had gotten Hawke's name and instructions to visit the Blooming Rose during her gig hours.

Hawke's steps were light with excitement as she made her way down the hallway toward the auditorium. She grinned as she recalled the memories: how they had exchanged numbers shortly after and how Fenris had soon become as regular a customer to the Blooming Rose as her Uncle Gamlen was. And as for Hawke, well… she no longer minded playing these gigs as much as she used to.

The doors to the auditorium were slightly open again, and Hawke tiptoed in, careful not to disturb her own personal Franz Liszt - she was certainly _not_ jealous at his reach and range on the keyboard - as he delivered his private performance. But at the sight of the tiny smirk on his face, Hawke knew he had already sensed here there. Instead she slipped her arms around his neck and joined him in accompaniment...or tried to anyway. With the way she stood behind him, her arms weren't quite long enough to reach the keys. So with a soft huff, she rested her hands on top of his and watched as he carried her through the rest of the song.

When it ended, Fenris flipped his hands over and laced his fingers through hers. "Hard at work?" he asked, his voice rumbling pleasantly around her.

Hawke hummed and dropped a light kiss on his temple. "Just picking out a few pieces for my students when they get back from break. Are you hungry?"

"Quite. That seminar took longer than I thought," he grumbled in response. Hawke laughed in his ear. As a visiting music professor and recruiter from the Minrathous University of Higher Learning, Fenris often gave lectures and held workshops for aspiring students at Hawke's music school, as well as Bethany's school and Kirkwall's local university.

"Want a sandwich? We can visit the deli down the street. I'm pretty sure they're still open."

Fenris tipped his head back to look up at her, "A sandwich sounds great, but you know what's even better?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him, grinning in that way that said she knew what he was going to say and that it was terrible and he really shouldn't say it but somehow she wanted to hear it anyway. "What?"

"You."

But just the way he said it was enough to make her weak in the knees. "That is horrible," she groaned but kissed his upside down face all the same, "I love it. I--" His fingers slid up the back of her neck, pulling her down for another. And another. _I love you._

*

She never said it aloud. Not when they left the building much later that evening, nor when Fenris stopped and turned to stare down a dark alleyway for a long while, a sense of unease tickling the back of his mind. Not when Hawke tugged at his arm, and he let her, following her down the street to the deli that indeed was still open.

Hawke was absent from her shift the following night. And the night after that.

A blond man wearing a feathered coat and a severe expression appeared at the Rose the next night, standing in the foyer and scanning the room with keen eyes until they landed on Fenris. He tensed as the man weaved his way through the crowd to his spot at the bar and said, "Hawke's in trouble."

Fenris soon found himself following the man, Anders, into a small clinic on the darker side of Lowtown. Inside sat two women, one of whom was the dark haired Rivaini, Isabela, whom he remembered seeing at the Hanged Man on occasion. The smaller woman, Merrill, often hung around Hawke's offices at the school, and she sobbed quietly as Isabela held her. They were both looking in the direction of an occupied cot, and Fenris followed their line of sight, freezing in place as he recognized the battered body lying beneath the sheet.

" _Hawke_!" he cried out, stumbling over to her bedside and taking a heavily bandaged hand in his. His eyes scanned her face, taking in the dark bruise beneath her left eye and the gauze wrapped around her hair and forehead. Her lip was split and slightly swollen, and Fenris very nearly growled at the sight of the bruising along the length of her throat.

Behind him, Merrill covered her lower face behind her hands and pressed herself even closer to her companion. Isabela spoke then, "I found her near the Hanged Man last night. Looked like she had dragged herself out of the alienage."

"What was she doing there?" If Fenris' voice was a bit too rough, he either didn't notice or didn't care.

"She was visiting me," the smaller woman responded. "I saw her leave, even waved to her at the top of the steps. Then I shut the door. I _shouldn't_ have shut the door. Hawke wouldn't be like this now if I had just waited--"

Her voice choked on another sob, but Fenris was already thinking back to that night when he last saw Hawke, that time when he felt like they were being followed. Two years here in Kirkwall dulled his senses, and he cursed his lack of initiative then. The old Fenris would never have left that alley unchecked. He would've eliminated all possible threats early on. He had become complacent after avoiding his pursuers for nearly ten years, and Hawke had paid the price.

Fenris looked down at their joined hands, his fingers grazing over her bandaged ones, and he felt the swollen joints where her fingers had been broken and reset. A scratch on the underside of her arm caught his eye, and with a troubled look, he slowly turned her arm over to see the rest of it. What he found there filled his mind with a rage he'd never known before, his body trembling involuntarily as he pushed off of the cot and paced the length of the room.

"What is it, Fenris?" Anders asked quietly from where he stood near his desk. "What does it mean?"

Fenris stood faced away from them all, his back tense and his hands balled into tight fists at his side as he spared one last glance at the unconscious woman on the bed. "It means I cannot stay. I… I need to go take care of something," he muttered darkly, his voice hoarse from his barely restrained anger.

Merrill looked up at him, eyes wide in confusion, "When will you be back? Hawke needs--"

"Hawke needs someone who won't be a danger to her life. And I… I am not that person."

Fenris left then, and that was the last time anyone ever saw him in Kirkwall for a long time.

 


	3. Act 3

She stopped played at the Blooming Rose. She stopped giving lessons at the music school.

Eleven months. Eleven months since the attack. Eleven months since she was beaten and interrogated within an inch of her life. Since her fingers were systematically broken for her refusal to give them anything. Eleven months since she woke up in Anders' clinic. Eleven months since Fenris' disappearance from her life.

The scars on her arm, the ones spelling the word that had set him off, had long since faded away. But Hawke had it ingrained in her memory, along with the message its author had whispered in her ear. "The master is coming for his pet. It's a shame you'll be too dead to witness their reunion."

Hawke glanced over at her writing desk, the ornate Orlesian design too gaudy for her tastes, but it fit the decor of the family estate very well. Recent reports, photographs, stacks of books documenting lines of Tevinter magisters and slavery laws, a thesis detailing research into various forms of lyrium inscription, and a single file on one "FENRIS" and all of the aliases he had taken over the years to avoid discovery all lay on the desktop surface, collecting dust for all of the results they had to show for it.

Hawke slumped into her chair, stretching her fingers impulsively and still feeling phantom aches where there were none. The injuries had healed well under Anders' excellent care, but she knew that it would never be the same again. If she really wanted to, Hawke knew she could still teach, but anything more strenuous than that would cause her joints to stiffen. The pain would return, and the memories would come. And it just wasn't something she could handle. Yet.

Ahh, yes. Optimism.

"Are you alright, dear?" Leandra's quiet voice drew over her like a comforting blanket.

Hawke glanced up and saw her mother standing in the doorway, gazing at her in concern. Since she moved back into the estate, no longer bleeding but still broken and hurting from within, Leandra had been a constant support, sometimes nearly to a stifling degree. But Hawke did not begrudge her mother her smothering. Because if Hawke knew anything, it was the feeling of turning away for one moment only to find that the person you loved was no longer there.

And yes, she loved Fenris.

And when she found him, she would tell him so. Repeatedly. With her fist. Maybe.

Baby steps, Hawke.

So she answered her mother with a smile gentle enough to assuage any worry. "I'm fine, Mother. Just resting my eyes."

"You've been at this for a long time, my darling," Leandra said as she went over to her daughter, her delicately manicured fingers sifting through the top layers of documents on the table. Hawke pursed her lips together. Her mother hadn't said it directly, but Hawke knew that her mother wished she'd just give up at this point.

But she was nothing if not her father's daughter.

And there was an elf that needed an ass handed to him. Preferably his own.

Her mother didn't need to know the gruesome parts of her investigation. Not how Hawke regularly met up with her companions and scoured the streets for the more unsavory groups that wandered the city in the middle of the night. Not how Hawke had Isabela combing the sea and the docks or how Varric had eyes and ears everywhere this side of Thedas. Not how they had tracked down Hadriana's group just the night before, killing her underlings before finally reaching her hideout only to find her corpse decomposing in a gutter with a gaping hole in her chest and a single word carved on the underside of her arm.

HAWKE

It should've made her happy, she thought, knowing that he was nearby. But really it just pissed her off, knowing that he was nearby but not near enough to be properly mad at.

"Don't worry, Mother," Hawke took her mother's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Oh, but darling, I will. I always will."

*

Two more weeks passed without news.

Hawke stood in the empty auditorium, as she did at the same time every evening for the past year. The room was empty. She made her way onstage, her feet dragging with each step, and sat heavily on the piano bench, her fingertips skipping over the keys. She played an "F". Then an "E", after which she laughed bitterly at herself because there was no "N" in music.

Both hands rested on the keys, and she pressed down. Her ears filled with sound, the first chord she had ever played with him. Her fingers danced over her arpeggios, the same notes from years ago, executing them with the same fire and passion that she had back then. But try as she might, everything she played rang hollow. Her music would always sound lonely without his.

Sound turned into noise as her fingers drifted off without direction, landing on wrong key after wrong chord and tone clusters that sang with the bitter timbre of unresolved endings. Hawke dropped her head against the top of the fallboard and let out an anguished cry at the hopelessness of it all.

The building was deserted, but her ghosts still lingered.

*

_I found a lead. - Captain I._

Hawke gathered her small party of Varric, Isabela, and Anders, and the three of them snuck through the back entrances of the Hanged Man and climbed up the rafters to watch the scene below them. Hawke was sure Varric would have a lot to say about being this high off the ground, but the dwarf kept silent. Anders crouched almost catlike on his perch, and Isabela had long ago blended seamlessly into the shadows.

Hawke felt her breath hitch as Fenris stepped through the front door, taking in his surroundings in an instant. She knew her companions were watching her, but she had eyes only for her Fenris. He'd grown more haggard the past year, probably from his time spent in hiding. His hair was longer, tied in a low tail against the back of his neck. Dark circles shaded his eyes, and his lips were drawn in a thin line as he approached a table occupied by a single elf.

"Leto..."

Fenris jerked back startled before shaking his head and prowling around the table where the other elf sat. "I was expecting Danarius. Odd finding you here, Varania."

"It… was not by choice."

"At last, my little wolf has returned to me." Fenris snarled and stepped one foot back, baring his teeth as his former master Danarius descended from the upper landing with his bodyguards. The magister clucked his tongue patronizingly, "Now, now, slave. Simply agree to come quietly, and I will promise you no harm. Also," because he did so love to gloat, "is it not wonderful for your sister to pay you a visit? You should thank me for bringing her all this way just to meet with you."

"Leto, please..."

"Are you not going to ask how I convinced her?" Danarius chuckled, "It was ridiculously simple, really." The Tevinter mage revealed his hand, which held a small vial of blood mixed with a swirling black miasma. He shook the tiny bottle once, and Varania clutched at herself, her body convulsing and falling from her seat onto the ground.

Fenris stood rooted in shock. From above, Hawke clenched her jaw so hard she heard her teeth grinding in her head. "Just say when, Hawke, and heads will fly," Isabela murmured from her left, her voice tinged with the same anger.

"But wait!" Danarius sounded too cheery for a dead man, "I almost forgot. Since you share the same blood, I have one for you as well..."

"Go!" Hawke snarled. "Anders, the vials."

And so justice descended from the sky. The bodyguards were dispatched quickly and almost effortlessly by all three rogues, but Danarius had magic flickering from his fingertips, and it was difficult to get close enough to strike. Varania's vial was smashed in an instant by a summoned stone fist, but Danarius dodged at the last moment, knocking Fenris' vial out of his hand and sending Fenris himself crashing to the ground.

" _Fenris_!" Hawke cried out.

"Hawke! Move!" But the warning came too late as she was drawn into a telekinetic field before being blasted out and slammed against the wall.

The sounds of battle rang and rattled in her head as she tried to regain her equilibrium. She saw her friends struggling, Varric's bolts shattered uselessly against the magister's shields while Isabela's daggers scraped and stabbed at the barrier to no avail and Anders cast spell after spell to keep them all alive. To the side, Varania was on her knees and breathing heavily, her elbows braced against the table, hands twisting in the air as she drew on what magic she could grasp.

Fenris climbed to his feet as well, and for the first time Hawke saw the veins of lyrium glow with a power she had only read about. His fists clenched at his sides, and Hawke gasped, remembering the state Hadriana was in when they found her and realizing what Fenris was about to do. She centered herself once more, focusing on the battle and the task of bringing Danarius down. Scrambling to her feet, she leapt deftly over to Isabela's side, and from there, time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Danarius caught sight of Fenris preparing to attack and commanded, "Slave! To me!"

At the same time, Varania completed her glyph and cast it at the magister's feet, nullifying the man's barrier and silencing him from everything else.

"I am no one's slave!"

Blades, fists, and spells landed without pause, time returned like a rush of air, and Danarius fell to his knees soon after, headless and heartless. Magical residue hissed and spat from his burnt skin as his corpse collapsed in an undignified heap to the ground.

The silence that followed was deafening, only to be broken when Varric spotted Fenris' poison vial near his foot and promptly crushed it beneath his boot.

*

Varania was the first to recover from the ordeal. Hawke sat by the siblings' cots through the night and into most of the day in Anders' clinic, waiting for their first signs of waking. She helped the elf sit up and drink a few sips of water before laying her back comfortably against the pillows.

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" Hawke asked.

Varania glanced over at her unconscious brother before shaking her head, "Nothing for now. My chest still feels like it's being squeezed to a pulp, but I suppose that's a side effect of not having the vial destroyed properly."

Hawke felt her face heat up in embarrassment as she looked down at her fiddling fingers. She had a lot of time to reflect on her actions from the previous night, and she couldn't say she was proud of most of the calls she made. "I'm very sorry about that."

"It's hardly an issue now," Varania laughed weakly. "It wasn't as if you had any other option. I, for one, am quite happy to be alive, thanks to you."

Hawke's smile was just as thin as she looked over at Fenris lying on the other cot. She flexed her fingers, a minor ache lingering from how hard she had held her daggers. She jumped slightly when Varania took her hand and examined it between her own slender fingers.

The soft pads of fingers ran over the healed joints, and Varania hummed thoughtfully, "They broke his too. Those were his darkest days."

Hawke wondered at the revelation as her hand was set gently back on her knee. Her eyes wandered back to Fenris, still asleep, breathing deep and even, and still just as handsome as ever. _No more dark days_ , she promised.

*

Things were mostly back to normal now. Aveline wasn’t too happy with Hawke.  Though the Captain appreciated Hawke’s efforts to help keep the streets safe, when a text came in at 03:00 attached with an image of the nearly destroyed interior of the Hanged Man, _especially_ when Hawke captioned it with “just like old times =P”, it took all of her willpower to not march over to the estate and strangle her. She knew Hawke would more than make it up to her soon, but _at three in the morning_ , none of that mattered. Varric was glad to be working on another installment of “The Champion of Kirkwall” series, most of which would be heavily embellished as usual. Anders released his two patients nearly three days ago now, and Varania took a ship back to Minrathous.

As for Fenris...well, whenever he was ready, he knew where to find her.

Hawke’s fingers danced over the keys, her torso angling up as her octaves ascended before falling again in a practiced pattern, holding her tempo back before racing forward again and again in tumultuous rubato. She loved this meter, the sensation of triplets rocking her back and forth so soothingly. Her chords were a strong foundation, anchoring a melody only she could hear in her head.

Eyes closed, her fingers catching her notes as they came, memory washing over all her senses. The touch of his hand on hers as he shares the middle range with her, her knuckles brushing up against his palm as they read each other's next move, his arm crossing beneath hers as he wanders down into her range, stealing a kiss upon his exit. The pads of his fingers drawing circles on the back of her hand during a brief rest while his other hand reaches each pitch with ease.

And the sensation of strong arms engulfing her, bringing her back… back to the present.

She inhaled a startled gasp. Hands hovered over her own, his chest pressed against her back and the side of his jaw resting against her temple. Fenris trailed one hand up to the keys on the upper register, fitting the melody in broken octaves between her chords as his other hand drew teasing, tantalizing touches up her arm, his fingers playing their song along her shoulders and down her back. His palm molded against her side, and she giggled at the ticklish sensation, causing her hand to land on a tone cluster instead of a proper chord. He laughed at that.

So Hawke turned herself around fully and drew Fenris down for a kiss that was long overdue. She familiarized herself once again with the taste of his lips and the brush of his fringe against her cheeks, moaning into his mouth as he drew her closer to him until he was sitting on the bench and she in his lap. Clothing was an obstruction that was summarily discarded. Hands and lips wandered, leaving burning trails of their broken songs behind them as they met in tandem. Their bodies moved in sync to the tempo of hearts beating, frantic but unhurried, a steady pulse in the midst of their chaotic romance. And when they peaked, at the tip of their crescendo, nothing else mattered except the tonal harmony of that one moment. All other noise faded out around them.

Later, as they lay naked on the bench with his arms around her and her head on his chest, Fenris reached over and played a sweet melody on a random octave, the same motif he'd performed with and for her time and time again. In their haze of  bliss and contentedness in each other's embrace, Hawke finally asked him, "So what is that anyway?"

Fenris looked at her, his gaze full of fondness and adoration and a longing that was all for her. "It is yours, Hawke. I… am yours."

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! =D


End file.
